


No Ghosts Need Apply

by felicia_angel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicia_angel/pseuds/felicia_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From SherlockBBC Kinkmeme: There were two cases going on in Dartmoor - The Baskerville case for Sherlock and, for the Winchesters, the Beast of Dartmoor.<br/>The beast Sherlock and Henry saw in the fog wasn't a hallucination (Though the drugs didn't help).<br/>The Morse Code John saw was actually Sam and Dean trying to communicate.<br/>The two groups run into each other repeatedly while investigating (and mock the other behind their back) - Until their cases merge toward the end and they have to, reluctantly, give the other credit.<br/>(Bonus points if Sherlock has another: But MONSTER'S AREN'T REAL breakdown for a few hours before fully accepting the WTFness of it all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are very few things that can scare an Angel of the Lord, which is something Dean’s learned the hard way over his association with Castiel and the various other assholes that tended to call themselves the Divine Messengers of the Lord. Castiel is often more annoyed or confused, a few times angry, but he’s only been scared a few times.

So having the Angel who pulled you out of HELL, let alone who is now on every shit-list that Heaven had to offers, appears in your hotel room against the wall, shivering and flinching from various sounds and looking ready to bolt if you approached him wrong, Dean had stayed with him, done his best to calm him down, and made sure Sam got a text to bring food and stay away for a little while.

Castiel had calmed down enough by the time Sam had returned with food, mostly hamburgers and fries, and for Dean to get most of the story out of him, much of it to be repeated when Sam returned so he could help with figuring out just what was going on.

“I went to England, to Dartmoor,” Castiel said, still a bit shaky as Sam got out the food and put it down on the small table nearby, “There’s a place there, Baskerville, a research facility. I had heard, as well as felt, that possibly something dangerous…or powerful…was in the area, but that because of all the chemicals and experiments, it’s hard for an angel or demon to walk into, not without pretending to be a human with the access.”

Dean looked impressed as Sam finished putting the food down, getting a bottle of water for the angel. Despite not needing it, Castiel still took it, holding it in his hands. “I found out about a young man there, Henry Knight. He witnessed his father being murdered, he said, by a being that had escaped from Baskerville – a large hound.”

The two Winchesters were silent as Castiel looked at the bottle of water, moving it around before he said simply, “I followed him to the place where his father died, an ancient area called Dewer’s Hollow. After that…I saw something. A beast, I believe, or something else…”

Dean noticed Castiel’s hands shaking a bit, and reached over to touch his arm, silently giving his support to the Angel. Of all of them, even after being taken back to drink the Kool-Aid, Dean trusted Castiel the most, and Castiel’s search for God, along with his status as a Fallen Angel, made it hard at times for him. Dean knew that – both he and Sam were wanted by Heaven for not conforming to their plans, and by Hell because of all they’d done over the years, but it often hurt to see his brother, who had the chance to be a great lawyer, or Castiel, who in Dean’s mind was the best of a bad lot of Angels, in pain or suffering.

Sam, analytical mind and holder of so much knowledge, frowned and now began to ask questions. Castiel seemed happy about it, describing a large, calf-sized dog with black fur, red eyes, and the feel of a vengeful spirit or an angry demon. Despite the fact that Castiel had dragged Dean out of Hell and could see Hell-Hounds, Demons, and everything else remotely scary to any human, he was obviously shaken by the dog he’d seen, Sam frowning at the repeated use of the word ‘hound’. He returned and brought Dean the food before clearing off that area and beginning the search, looking for the information that Castiel had given them as Dean kept his hold on the Angel, eating his hamburger one-handed. Castiel looked a bit happier about the support and the silence, so it continued until Sam took in a breath and said, simply, “Cas, have you heard of something called the Beast of Dartmoor?”

Both Dean and Castiel frowned, Sam continuing, “It’s a type of Black Dog that’s specific to that area. The story goes back to the 17th century or so, and the original story is also attached to Baskerville.”

“I don’t think labs were around then, Sammy,” Dean pointed out, earning a look as Sam continued.

“It’s not a lab, originally. Up until the late 19th century, it was a family line. Baskerville Hall was in the area, and there are some questions about what happened to it, but Baskerville, the Military Lab, is considered to be on or near the original site.”

Castiel managed to drink some water before asking, a bit warily, “What’s the story?”

Sam was silent a bit before telling them. “So back in the 17th century, the Hall was occupied by Sir Hugo Baskerville, and the story goes that he was all the stereotypes of a horrible landholder in the time – abused the peasants and his fellows alike, ran around with the wrong crowd, even possibly some witchcraft and devil-worship. One day, he goes into the Moor and finds a peasant girl that he decides should come and…well, ‘entertain’ him and his friends. The girl’s dad tried to save her, but ended up getting killed and dumped into the hollow nearby. So the drinking and such starts up, while Hugo puts the girl in his bedroom for later. She manages to escape, and Hugo, in a rage, goes after her with his dogs, saying that he’ll get her back or the Devil take him.”

“Lovely choice of words there,” Dean quipped, earning a nod from Sam.

“Five of his friends got sober enough to follow, and found the dogs afraid of something, the girl’s body a few feet away, dead, but no sign of Hugo. When one started to head down into the hollow, though, he gave a scream and died. The other four didn’t ever say what they saw, and Hugo’s body was never found, but the men never went out on the Moors at night, and the Baskerville family was said to be cursed by a demonic hound.”

Dean guessed it wasn’t Hell Hounds, though.

“On the deathbed of one, though, he described a gigantic hound, like what Cas described, but he didn’t call it a Black Dog. This became known as the Hound of the Baskervilles, until the lined died out with the death of Sir Henry Baskerville and his cousin, Jack Stapleton. Apparently, who got what was up for debate with Stapleton, since there were few official documents saying he was related to the Baskervilles, and he tried to get Henry killed by getting a big dog, covering the dog with phosphorous and letting him out when Henry was walking home from Stapleton’s house. Stapleton’s wife, who he’d abused, tried to stop him and save Henry, but she was attacked by the fake hound and fell into the hollow. Henry went after her, and when Stapleton came to find them, he only saw his wife’s body and the mangled body of the dog he’d gotten. He did go to get the police, and when he and they came back to his house, somehow Henry’s body was in there. The dispute and the documents, as well as a few other bits of evidence, came up later…after Stapleton ran towards the hollow, made a wrong turn, and ended up in the Grimpen Mire. Police witnessed him fall in and sink down, screaming all the way about a demonic hound.”

“So if the line’s dead, why show up with Castiel? Don’t tell me there was _another_ branch?”

“No. See, Baskerville the Lab was set up a little after World War II, to start researching…well, anything they could, though officially it’s weapons and chemical research. It’s a government lab so they do a lot of things, and some of it is actually used or declassified later.”

“The rest goes in the same storage bit as the Arc and everything else?” Dean asked.

“Something like that. Anyway, the hollow in question got the name Dewer’s Hollow, and supposedly the Devil resided there, but considering how close it is to Baskerville and the Mine field, as well as the stories, not a lot of people wandered around there. Then, in the 80’s, a kid named Henry Knight is found on the Moor, afraid, confused, and hungry, and screams when he sees the dog of the woman who found him. In fact, anytime young Henry sees a type of dog, he’s scared. The police find out that he and his dad took walks on the Moor at night, and Henry’s only memory of that time is seeing his dad get attacked by a, and I quote, ‘gigantic hound’. He did drawings, everything. A family friend took care of him for a bit before relatives did, but Baskerville now had a reputation, and people brought up the Hound again, only now calling it the ‘Beast of Dartmoor’. A few pointed out myths about that particular Hollow, and the dog apparently comes up from further back than Sir Hugo and his run-in, though that one is the most famous.”

Dean frowned, “That doesn’t explain the fear-factor that Cas ran into.”

“Considering it wasn’t the hound I was afraid of,” Cas pointed out, earning the Winchesters attention before he shifted, taking another drink then saying, “I saw the Hound on the ridge, just…pacing. It appeared to be trying to keep something inside the Hollow. When I moved, it headed down into the area, moving around where I and Henry Knight had been, then into some of the fog to one side. When I tried to follow it, to figure out what it was, I ran into…one of my brothers.” Dean guessed it had been Raphael, the archangel that had watched over Chuck and also killed Castiel the one time. Granted, Raphael was not exactly the nicest of the angels either – he was as big on starting Armageddon as some of the other Angels they’d had to run into, but this guy was just a straight-up DOUCHE, and Dean got that from one fateful and decently violent meeting with him after Cas had returned, cut off from Heaven and Not Pleased. Dean hadn’t been happy about the situation either, and a trip to Alternate Future Land (because he’d be damned if he’d let that happen, no matter what God or anyone else said) had only made him even more resolved to protect his very messed up and somewhat adopted family.

“What happened?” Sam asked softly, looking concerned.

“He…didn’t speak, simply…it was frightening, is all, and I went to the first place I could think of, trying to find you both. I got lucky.”

Dean nodded, hand still on Cas’ arm. “Considering that no angel’s been able to find us ‘cause of those marks on our ribs, I’d say you were damned lucky.” He frowned, considering. “Do you remember getting here or anything else? The report said the kid was out of it for a night.”

“I…recall coming here, but it’s…jumbled. I was afraid, first of my brother, then that I had led him to you…at other times, things seemed…different, but that faded quickly...not as quickly as the fear, though.”

Sam considered for a long while before picking up his phone. “I’m going to call Bobby about this. Considering that you can’t get into Baskerville, and neither can other angels or demons, I’m guessing there might be something that either affected the Beast, or it’s pulled out something new. But whatever the reason, it’s probably fixated on that Henry Knight guy, and we’ll have to figure this out.”

Dean sighed, glancing at Cas then at Sam as he headed out to give Bobby a call, “Lovely. So, I guess it’s a trip to England on Angelic Airlines?”

\--

It was somewhere much later that day that they made it to England, as whatever had been in Dewer’s Hollow, or whatever had been in the nearby Baskerville facility, really messed up Cas’ powers, to the point that Dean managed to get him to lie down once and both Winchesters had watched as he _SLEPT_ , waking once in a panic and not open to discussing what he’d dreamed about. Dean stays with Cas, mostly because he and the angel are fairly close and because he honestly wants to make sure Cas is alright. The run-in with the Buruburu had drawn up a lot of Dean’s fears, ones that he’d not realized he had and others that he buried as deeply as he could in order to function. Castiel had gone from being a bit uptight and following all the rules to breaking more rules, rebelling against Heaven, pissing off an Archangel, and generally being one of the few people that could really make Dean laugh. As such, he felt turnabout was fair play in this case, and Sam was more interested in trying to do research on what might bring up a ghost or being that could trick an angel into feeling fear, as well as more about Dartmoor, Grimpen, and the area in general.

Considering that Dean wasn’t about to get pulled over to try to drive in England, they’d had to pack most of the things needed in two larger hiking packs, along with a duffel bag of the usual random items. Despite Dean hating to fly, no matter what the circumstances or who was doing it, he’d allowed Castiel to get them near Grimpen, so they could at least hike into town and appear ‘touristy’ before getting rooms. Sam had managed to get information about a place called the Cross Keyes, one of the few places in the town that had rooms, and they’d walked in, moving off the road as a black Land Rover passed them, the two passengers parking next to a guide group with a sign out that said “Beware the Hound!”

“Classy,” Dean muttered, the trio walking into the apparent Bed-and-Breakfast as he also groaned, though softly, while Sam went up to get rooms, followed shortly after by a short, nondescript man that was a bit hard to really describe beyond ‘average’. A taller, dark haired man with pale skin walked past them as Castiel asked, “What?”

“Vegetarian,” Dean muttered, “I hate this place already.”

Cas frowned, Dean letting out a sigh before he said, “I like burgers, ok? Not that whole…salad…thing.”

Sam and the nondescript man, it seemed, got the last two rooms, Dean hearing the owner say something about ‘double rooms’ before he shook his head, waiting for Sam to get over there with beer and the key while Sam and the nondescript man played Twenty Questions, almost all about the Moor.

“Ever seen the Demon Hound?” the nondescript man asked the owner as he got some of the beers.

“No, but Fletcher has.”

Dean and the taller man looked out at the kid on the cell, the two talking a bit more as Dean followed the taller man out, the tall man getting himself a used and abandoned half-full glass of beer as he walked over.

Dean managed to make eye contact, then glanced to see Sam was talking with Castiel nearby, apparently asking what the hell Dean was doing, and he finally hung back a bit, going to drop his pack off with Sam after a quick, “Gotta see a man about a dog,” before heading back, saying as he arrived, “So I talked to--.”

“Bets off, sorry.”

“Crap.”

“Wait…”

“We’ve got about an hour until dark, think it should work then?”

“I still think--.”

“WHAT BET?”

Hook, line, sinker.

\--

“I bet my American friend here 50 quid that you couldn’t prove you’ve seen the Hound.”

Sherlock hoped John would take a hint as the man snorted. “I hope it’s good. Barkeep said you’d seen it, but I’ve met guys who saw Bigfoot.”

Fletcher looked cocky, pulling out his phone as Sherlock glared at the American, who shrugged, saying, “Sorry, man, but I have. Betcha another ten I know the first three things he’s going to use.”

Fletcher still smirked at Sherlock as he snorted. “Considering it has to be _believable_ and I’m skeptical…”

Fletcher said, “You’re still going to lose. I did see it. ‘Bout a month ago. Mind you, it was foggy…”

“No other witnesses?” Sherlock asked, as the American snorted.

“When are there EVER more then one witness?”

“Wait, but…” Fletcher found it, showing them both a grainy, far-away photo.

Both snorted again. “I’ve seen better UFO shots,” the American pointed out, letting out a sigh. “Know what? Screw the bet. He’s obviously not got anything.”

“Agreed, bet’s off.”

“Wait, wait, that’s not all.” Fletcher pointed out, taking on the look that most people did when they were being ‘serious’ about something supernatural. “People don’t go out there, to the Hollow.”

“Most people don’t like going into Haunted Houses,” the American said, “that’s why they’re so lucrative…get in a camera crew and you’re Jake.”

Sherlock and the American waited as Fletcher tried to convince them, Sherlock finally asking, with air of someone who was confident he’d won his bet, “Is that the best you got?”

The shy look, as if he was forced to finally pull out the ‘stunning’ part. Excellent.

Fletcher went into a story about his friend, serious, and he pulled up his backpack, still speaking before he pulled out the last thing…

Sherlock and the American blinked at the plaster, glancing at each other before the American said, “I think just the fifty…”

Sherlock reluctantly handed it over, the American looking pleased as they walked back, Sherlock joining John from nearby as the American went back to the other two ( _one’s a brother, younger, smarter and a bit more privileged, the other’s a friend, possibly close…Odd…_ )as John asked, “So, who was that?”

“Some cocky American tourist who thought we worked well together. Apparently he, his brother, and his friend hunt ghosts.”

\--

“Who was that?”

“Huh?”

“The guy…the one who paid you?” Sam reminded him, nodding towards the two men.

“Oh,” Dean watched the tall guy and the nondescript one head out in the black Land Rover. “Dunno. I did get fifty quid off him, and apparently things got really weird.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pulls rank and sees a somewhat odd sort of Morse code. Sam talks to Henry Knight. Dean and Cas go out to the Moor, and Sherlock has a bit of a breakdown.

Binoculars were wonderful, Dean frowning as they watched the black Land Rover get into Baskerville and then further inside, up to someone who spoke with them, then stand up and freakin’ _salute_ at something the nondescript man had said.

“Guy pulls rank pretty well,” Sam muttered after they got in, lowering his binoculars. “I don’t think we can talk our way in. And if we’re caught, I’m pretty sure they’ll start questioning why two guys, formerly wanted by the FBI, are here and not dead like we’re supposed to be.”

“Or why we’re here when our M.O was supposed to be grave desecration and a trail of dead bodies, neither of which have happened. Maybe death made us both a bit more rational, able to see the error of our ways, so we wait a bit before going on horrible sprees of death and depravity?”

“Not funny, Dean.”

Dean snorted, obviously just making the joke to try and calm down Castiel. Whatever had been on the Moor was getting him a bit worked-up, and Dean briefly wondered if that Henry Knight guy was in a similar state.

“Probably not,” Dean finally admitted, shifting a bit. “So, we have an obvious paw print, everything going on with Cas, a kid who got freaked out when his dad possibly died in the Hollow, and a base that is shady. Should we talk to that Henry guy?”

Sam frowned, considering. “I think we might have to split up for it. I could go talk to Henry, say I’m from a journal or something about supernatural and unusual occurrences, see if he knows about the Hollow’s legend before his dad died.”

Dean considered a moment, looking back at the base. “That guy mentioned something about nightfall…he and his officer friend might be out looking for the Hound again.” A glance at Castiel said he obviously didn’t like where this was going. “I think, with the light of day, we should look around, not in, the Hollow, see if we can’t find something that might explain the Black Dog or vengeful spirit or whatever it is. If those two are going to be on the Moor, though, we should stay close, just in case we have to save their sorry asses.” A quick check said Sam had the weapons and items he needed, including a flashlight and notepad for later, and with a quick nod, the two brothers split up.

As they neared the Moor, Castiel cleared his throat briefly, catching Dean’s attention. “Thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For…not letting me come here alone. I can’t explain it, but it is a bit…frightening.”

Dean sighed, going over to pat Castiel’s arm. “You saved me from Hell, Cas, and a lot of other things besides, even when it was just following orders. Something’s messing with you, and I don’t like that.” He managed a small smile. “Now, let’s stop the chick-flic stuff and go see what we can find, ok?”

Cas nodded, obviously feeling a bit better, as the two headed off towards the Hollow.

\--

After all that happened at Baskerville, which honestly only made him believe that Mycroft’s staff was completely incompetent, as well as how very much their taxes were going to mostly unnecessary things (honestly, luminous rabbits?), Sherlock was a bit anxious to go meet up with Henry and try out his plan. The case was interesting, and something that made him wonder what would motivate anyone to try and attack Henry or even fake a gigantic dog ( _Hound_ , he reminded himself _but why that word specifically?_ ) out on the Moor.

So he and John were a bit surprised to see that Henry had company in the form of the taller, but younger, brother to the man that’d taken Sherlock’s money. He had shoulder-length hair and a sort of look that screamed ‘hug me, I’m safe and adorable and so horribly _boring_ ’, which didn’t help that his clothing was extremely simple, comfortable, and _boring._ What made him less boring were some of the smaller things Sherlock noticed – the man had obviously taken an interest in them, at least after his brother’s hustle, and while he could obviously fast-talk his way into an emotionally-unbalanced man’s home, he also at least looked a bit unhappy to have been caught.

“Um,” Henry said as the man stood, eye-to-eye with Sherlock, “This is Sam Winchester. He…um…”

“I’m kinda a writer,” Sam said, “for a supernatural website. Someone saw Henry’s interview and the program about Baskerville and my bosses decided I had to go and find out what’s going on.”

Sherlock managed a fake, pleasant smile as Henry headed off, John exchanging a quickly look that asked if Sherlock would be alright with him nearby as Sherlock held out his hand. “Sherlock Holmes, my blogger and colleague John Watson. I’m sure Henry told you why _we’re_ here.”

Sam took the hand, obviously understanding that any and all verbal attempts at coercion would go through Sherlock first, and how badly that might end. “Um…he mentioned it, yeah. Gave me the web address and everything.” He managed to turn to where John was talking to Henry, apparently about how rich he was, “I did like it. The first one, about the lady in bright-pink…”

“So, why is a supernatural writer here?”

Sam’s attention turned back to Sherlock, frowning. “I wanted to find out more. Henry told me he’s sure it’s some escaped monster from that government facility or whatever.”

“But you think differently?”

“I’m not sure,” Sam told him, crossing his arms casually ( _not defensively, he’s only talking, or he doesn’t consider me a threat…he’s faced worst people, then, or those who are more willing to fight then talk_ ), “A friend saw the show and said he’d heard about something like Henry’s…well, genetic monstrosity, only it’s this thing, called a Black Dog. Heard of it?”

“Black dogs?”

Sam shook his head, “No, just one. It’s a legend, kinda local for this area, about a big dog, black as night, usually roams around. Depending on what you read, it attacks people who desecrate gravesites or is said to be a spirit of vengeance.” He shrugged, as his voice had gone lower so Henry and John wouldn’t hear, Sherlock frowning at this. It was lower not because he believed it, but because he didn’t want to influence Henry’s thinking.

“You think it’s that?” Sherlock managed to keep his disbelief that the man was _serious_ out of his voice

“I did, before I talked to Henry. Now, I’m not sure.” He sighed. “Look, I’ve seen…a lot of bad things, and some pretty messed up things too. I met people who said they were being followed by large black dogs, a marathon runner who died of a heart-attack when he was 30 and with no history, family or otherwise, of heart disease…some very odd things.” Sherlock thought back to the dead man in a car trunk, and the plane full of the dead that would never fly. “Strange as it might sound, I can take that it’s something weird and supernatural going on there, or at least something that demands looking into.” Sam sighed, looking back at where Henry and John were, Henry saying something about seeing more words…’Liberty’ and ‘In’. “This doesn’t sit well with me, not at all.”

“Something else you encountered?” Sherlock asked, realizing that he was fishing and not understanding why, thought the young man had a far-away look in his eyes.

“Ok, so the stuff your friend writes up for you…the cases and stuff? I’ve heard about weird stuff like that – suicides without any reason, graffiti on a fiftieth floor when no one was seen entering or leaving, the whole…I dunno, the Woman or whoever thing. I get that people in cities end up doing bad things to each other…hell, a friend of mine actually _lived_ somewhere that supposedly had belonged to H.H. Holmes. But…” he swallowed. “Bad things happen in cities, someone might notice. Same thing happens in the country…” he shakes his head. “A house can burn down in five separate small towns, killing someone’s mother, and no one thinks it’s the same guy.”

That had a history there, though Sherlock understood where Sam was coming from. He had always thought that all the problems in the city were exponentially multiplied in the country, if only because communities could easily rally around a supposed ‘good man’ who was abusing his wife and children, or hide some dark secret. He recalled that, during one case, John and a former Army officer had been talking and getting along well, something that had not sat well with Sherlock because the man wasn’t the best person in the world. John had agreed, but added that the one part of their life still made it easier for him to talk to the ex-Army man then some others.

Sam sighed, abruptly pulling himself back from his memories. “Listen, if I scared Henry I’m sorry about that. But I do think there is something out there.” He shifted, moving back to the kitchen area as Sherlock followed, Sam telling Henry that he had to go and apologizing if any of his questions made him uncomfortable. Henry was polite, and obviously happy about how the interview had gone before Sherlock and John arrived, as Sam headed out, Sherlock frowning as John asked, quietly, “What was that about?”

“Nothing of importance, though I’m beginning to think those Americans are bad liars.”

Henry was quiet about it, thinking before John asked, “So…what’s the plan?”

“Oh, that…” Sherlock said, “We take Henry out onto the Moor and see if anything attacks him.”

“WHAT?”

\--

Dean and Castiel had managed to look around the Hollow just as the sun began to set and the area around them grew dark, Castiel uncertain and a bit upset at having not finding any other pawprints. Dean had frowned at some of the plants in the area, though he noticed more that there seemed to be some pressure plates around.

“Hey, Cas,” he said as he slowly removed one, trying to not set it off, “What do you think?”

Cas knelt next to him, examining it and frowning before looking down at the Hollow, also frowning at whatever he’d saw. “There are more in the Hollow, but…I can’t tell what’s in them.”

Dean let out an annoyed huff, noting the sigil on the underside of the one he was holding. “This isn’t good.”

Cas looked at it, also frowning and obviously annoyed. “It would explain why I was affected, but I don’t quite understand what the purpose is.”

Dean returned it after making a scratch that would dispel the sigil, covering the thing up again and leaning back. “We probably need to talk to those two guys, see about getting into Baskerville,” Dean muttered, disliking the plan already. Something about that tall guy rubbed him the wrong way, and while the shorter one was normal, he’d known a few ‘normal’ guys to be some of the most dangerous people around. He also wasn’t sure what their intentions were, or how they’d been able to get into a high-security base anyway. Plus, he was very sure that the tall guy he’d conned that kid with is a bit of an asshole, if only because he’s known enough hustlers in his life.

Dean and Cas were heading out towards the main area of rocks and such, Dean with a flashlight and Castiel without one before the angel stops, frowning and starting to head away before Dean notices.

“Cas!” he hissed, heading after his angel friend as the sun fully set and darkness quickly flowed over the Moor, darkening the place before Dean caught up with Castiel, cursing as he stumbled over some leaves, making an obvious rustling sound. “Cas, what the--.”

Cas pauses, forcing Dean to stop at well and look down. Near them is the body of a large and very dead dog, looking like it’d been partly eaten and by nothing of this world. Dean moved a bit away, signaling out along the Moor and hopefully to where Sam is, and turning off his light when he hears someone nearby, heading back and holding back a curse as he stumbles over something in the forest. He managed to get far enough in that the light doesn’t really spot him, if the fact that the man hasn’t come in is any consolation, and he feels more than sees Castiel at his side before he spots the light, frowning as he sees the quick succession of flashes, hearing a muttered and quiet “U…M…Q…R…A…umqra?”

Dean forced himself to not laugh. At one point, out of boredom, Sam and Dean had created a unique way of communicating that involved Morse Code, and that they could use if they didn’t want anyone else who might be in the area to notice. It’d come in handy a few times, and Dean had to admit that hearing someone mutter in annoyance at seeing the actual code was a bit funny.

Castiel was silent as they heard the man, who after a moment he identified as the nondescript guy, hiss out “Sherlock!” and look around before heading further into the woods towards the Hollow, Dean letting out a breath before Castiel said, “Someone killed that dog ritualistically.”

Oh, their night was just getting better and better, wasn’t it?

“Sam spoke to that Henry guy,” Dean said, pulling out his own flashlight, “and said he’s pretty sure whatever’s in there, it’s both supernatural and not.”

Castiel frowned, curious. “How?”

Dean shook his head. “He’s not sure. But I’m guessing it’s whatever was in those pressure-plates.”

“How do you know that?”

“Sam’s message. He was sending me a signal about this one time we worked in Hollywood.” Cas hadn’t been there, so Dean explained about the man who’d tried to create a how-to on raising ghosts and killed some of the people that were going to change the script, but that the first part had been someone playing dead to get hype out for the film. Cas was silent as they started to head in after the whispering man, Dean starting to have a bad feeling about what was going on.

Of course, Dean stopped when both of them heard something, Dean noting that the nondescript man had also noticed something and was walking towards it.

Cas stopped him, the grip telling him that something had just happened, as they heard more then saw something pass them by.

“Someone’s in Dewer’s Hollow,” Cas whispered as they all heard what sounded like a howl, Dean looking over to see that the nondescript man had started running, and he swallowed.

“Can you…Cas?” he noticed Castiel’s sudden shaking looking around as if he heard something that Dean couldn’t. “Cas, man, what’s wrong?”

He swallowed. “I…I believe…I’m afraid.”

Dean kept hold of Cas, looking over as he listened, hearing a sort of mournful howl before saying, “Come on, back to the hotel.”

“But…”

“We don’t have any good artillery, and we’re nowhere _near_ the Hollow and you’re starting to freak out. Whatever the Beast is now, it’s dangerous to you, and I’m not taking that chance, ok?” After a quick, short nod, Dean led Castiel out of the woods, the two heading back to Grimpen as Cas slowly calmed down, seeming to get back to his old self the further away from the Hollow they got. Sam joined up with them, smiling a bit as they compared notes before getting back to Grimpen.

“Sherlock? Really?” Dean asked, confused. “You’re kidding.”

“Sherlock and John,” Sam told them as they got to the hotel. “I’m going to go look up more on them, see what I can find.”

Dean nodded, and noting Castiel’s still slightly nervous look, shrugged before saying, “Let’s stay here…get Cas some dinner, let you do the whole research thing.”

Sam agreed, heading to the room as Dean forced Castiel to sit at a table and have some of the beer, watching the angel. Hell, he’d not been this nervous since the night before they trapped Raphael. Granted, that might have been because they’d gone to a brothel, or because Castiel at least _knew_ what he was going up against when it came to the archangel. With this, neither of them were quite sure what was going on or why.

Dean looked up at the swish of a great coat, frowning as he saw that the tall guy ( _Sherlock, though there could be worst names_ ) before he came back down, sitting in front of the fireplace and looking…well, looking like he was trying to not freak-out.

“I think I know who went down into the Hollow,” Dean muttered, Castiel also watching Sherlock as the nondescript guy, John, arrived minutes later, talking to Sherlock about something, apparently either trying to take care of Sherlock during his freak-out. Dean tried to not listen in, as they were too far away, but apparently Castiel could listen in.

“John is a good man,” Cas says quietly to Dean, “he’s worried about his friend.”

“And Sherlock?”

“He’s…like you. Unable to admit to certain things.”

Dean digested this. “Thanks.”

“Sarcasm?”

“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” Everyone had been silent at that point, and now Dean looked over at Sherlock, noting that Cas was also studying him, as if figuring out what had happened to him would be able to explain what had happened to Cas in the Hollow. Dean considered the fact that both had been in the Hollow, and the way Sherlock was talking, he’d obviously had seen the Beast. But if that was true, then his outburst and everything was because he’d not expect to see a large Hound of any sort, or because whatever exposure he’d had was less then Cas’ own. After all, he also wasn’t hallucinating about someone he feared just yet, but it was obvious he was annoyed at how afraid he’d gotten while in the wooded area.

Dean reached out to touch Cas’ shoulder, getting the angel’s attention as he looked at Dean, a bit curious. “I’m heading up to check on Sam. Are you going to stay here?”

“For a little while. I…need to think.”

“Alright,” Dean said, slowly standing and walking off, nearly bumping into the obviously peeved John as he left the room. A glance back showed Sherlock was still at the fire, and Dean shook his head, walking towards the rooms with a final muttering of “ass” under his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John formerly meet the Winchesters and Castiel. Sherlock is a bit unhappy to learn many of the things he knows is wrong. John and Dean have an encounter with the Beast of Dartmoor.

The man watching him was…odd. That was the only word that Sherlock could come up with, and it had taken a great deal for him to calm down and think it through. John had left, which Sherlock wasn’t sure how he felt about, especially with everything else, and Sherlock was currently not appreciating the stare leveled at him by the man who’d been working with the two Winchesters.

It wasn’t like Sherlock didn’t know who they were, either – both men were supposed to have been dead a year or so ago, in a fire that destroyed the place they were being held in. Sherlock recalled it because Mycroft had mentioned something about how the FBI had disliked the men, that the two and their father had been known killers, thinking that the trail of bodies they left behind were those killed by demonic or supernatural forces. He had no idea who this man was, besides the obvious signs, but all of them seemed to be mixed and confusing. He was a family man, Christian, who believed in God and in all those other boring things associated with religion. Yet he’d abandoned his family to travel with two convicted felons. His suit was badly fitted, bought off the rack, and was generic, and from the few stains and other points that Sherlock could see, the man had worked in advertising, possibly selling space of some sort – enough to warrant a semi-decent suit and to keep a family home with, but not enough for anything more expensive, if the older coat and the obviously two-sizes-too-large shirt said anything. But he hadn’t had work recently – if what Sherlock knew about the Winchesters was true – yet he’d kept up the suit and coat, as if ready to walk back into his old life.

What put Sherlock off were the eyes, though. While they were blue, and normal, they were also ancient and thoughtful and seemed to be taking in everything. He appeared to notice Sherlock’s scrutiny, sitting up a bit and frowning at him, as if he wasn’t sure what the social convention was for staring at each other and judging the other.

Sherlock sighed, standing walking over and standing, forcing the other man to look up at him. “Something wrong?”

The man tilted his head, a confused look on his face, like he wasn’t sure how to answer that question and also wasn’t sure if he should.

Sherlock shook his head, the man finally speaking after a moment, “You do have them.”

This brought a frown from Sherlock, looking over at the man as he finally clarified. “You have friends.”

That got Sherlock to glare at him, wondering why the man was going to eavesdrop and then suddenly decide to speak about something he didn’t know anything about.

“I’m sure  _normal_  people have friends.”

The man’s frown continued, though it seemed to deepen a bit, and he finally said, “I once saved a man from Hell.”

“Did you?”  _Definitely religious_ , Sherlock thought,  _though…he truly believes. How odd._

The man’s look became a bit annoyed, as if he disliked the tone Sherlock was taking with him, and continued, “Yes. I was told to save him from that place, and I did. I was told that, because I had done so, I was to watch over him, and ensure he did what was needed, so I did. I attempted to keep the contact minimal, though, as I knew the man could quickly form opinions and feelings for people. However, I began to…doubt…my orders, the motivations, many things. When I learned something disturbing, I did not look to anyone but the one I’d pulled out of Hell for the answers. I found that I trusted him, and to a degree his judgment and willingness to try something futile, over my brother’s actions. Because of that…” the man paused, considering, as if uncertain how to explain, “I was punished, and while I don’t have the support I once did, he doesn’t seem to mind.”

Sherlock frowned at the story. “Why did you save him, anyway?”

“Why did you help your friend?” the man asked, looking at Sherlock as if he knew everything about them, as if he could read all of John’s past as easily as Sherlock could. The man tilted his head again, the frown still there and his eyes seeming to see what Sherlock was thinking. “He’s an ex-soldier, and a doctor, who has killed men. He is broken, and more. Yet you still trust him, and pushed him away because of your fear.”

Sherlock remembers looking up at the obvious ex-soldier, recalls that limp that was obviously a psychosomatic, remembers John’s annoyance at a variety of things during that first case…remembers his smile and laugh when Sherlock admits to having stolen Lestrade’s ID, the happy look he had when Angelo returned the cane…the shot that knocked the cabbie called Hope down, and John, looking normal and boring on the side, muttering about not giggling because it was a crime scene. He remembers the jacket, and the pool, and his fear while John was being so normal, just talking,  _talking_  and he’d gotten so angry at him for saying they were  _friends_ , when he  _couldn’t_  have friends, how many had told him that?

He was honest. “It’s an experiment.”

The man looked at Sherlock, his eyes expressive and somewhere between annoyed and curious. “Have you remained impartial in your experiment?” Sherlock glared at him, recalling all that he and John had done, remembering the pool, the threat/promise that Moriarty had said, the various times when he had tried to help Sherlock, when he’d written up various points on his blog some of their things, that he protected and defended John, that he put up with everything, and had stayed home despite having a date after Irene’s faked death, and…

“I thought not,” the man said, as if reading all those memories in Sherlock’s face. “You don’t believe you deserve friends, just as my friend didn’t believe he deserved to be saved.” Sherlock swallowed, the man walking up and Sherlock swearing that the firelight made the shadows look like the man had wings…”You have friends. Apologize to the one here. No one is so lost that they don’t deserve to be saved, or to have friends.” With that, the man walked away, Sherlock watching him and finally glaring at where he’d been. Who did this man think he was, to tell him such a thing? Who did he think he was? What did he think he knew?

Still, when Sherlock saw Henry’s therapist in the restaurant, he didn’t hesitate to send John a text with a photo. If he was lucky, John would be able to speak to someone about Henry, and maybe be happy and get…sex, or whatever. If not, then at least they had a few other things. Though it wasn’t something Sherlock enjoyed thinking about – many of the women that John tended to date were dull and uninteresting, and felt  _they_  should come first in the relationship. One had only been dating John for the novelty of dating someone with PTSD, and while John never learned that, it was one of the few times Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy tormenting another human with his words.

As Sherlock walked back up to their room, he heard a familiar voice from the one next to his and John’s, speaking loudly and obviously annoyed, “Cas, honestly, the guy’s an ass. Why even try to talk to him?”

“Dean…” Sam Winchester’s voice was filled with annoyance and a history.

“Yes, fine, but still. Someone that smart should not be that stupid.”

Sherlock glared at the door, noticing it was partly opened and apparently the men inside hadn’t realized it. He shifted a bit closer, enough to listen but also to appear like he had just stopped outside of his door to check his phone. The man who had argued with the one from downstairs about him, apparently named Dean, was obviously angry about the situation.

“Look, it’s not like you haven’t done some the same things anyway,” Sam spoke up, getting Sherlock to frown. What he’d seen of the man told him he was a hustler, but the man also was obviously protective of Sam and the other one with them, Cas. “Anyway, we should try to figure this out. Bobby called while you were downstairs, said he’d found nothing big on the Beast, at least not that we didn’t know, but, I did find something in Dad’s journal that might help.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Well, apparently Baskerville and Grimpen aren’t the only places that had to deal with whatever is going on here. A place in Indiana had a string of multiple homicides, back in ’86. Dad went to investigate it, but ran into trouble.”

The group was quiet, Dean saying, “I remember some of that. Yeah, that was back…hell, first time he left us alone for a while. Social Services nearly got us.”

That caused Sherlock to frown. The man had nearly been ten at the time, if his guess was right, and his brother was younger, so…he left the two alone?

“What sort of trouble, did he say?”

“CIA. From what I can tell, he was thinking it was just your normal, run-of-the-mill government cover up.”  _Father either believed in them or had been part of them…possibly he was a veteran…no, he was, Vietnam, and was considered paranoid but not about the government, unless it was about police or the government finding him…and that carried over to the children. Yet they are educated enough to have gone through the American school system, possibly Sam went higher but Dean, didn’t…high school dropout, though possibly got his GED just to prove he could. The ‘good son’, of course. Mycroft would love to meet him._

“I sense a ‘but’ in there,” Dean pointed out.

“Well, he wrote that what he could find about the place showed a sudden spike in ghosts, especially around one area that was said to be haunted.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The children would take up their father’s obsession with the supernatural.

“Like the Hollow or was it a different story?”

“Different,” Sam said, “more a Lady in White.”

Dean snorted, Sherlock frowning as he heard the man stand up. “Yeah, those are so much fun to mess with…that doesn’t explain the plate, though. And if they were going to make sure the thing worked, it couldn’t be any of the original guys if they made a deal.” He paused. “Cas, could they make a deal and last twenty years?”

“I doubt it,” Cas said, speaking up, “and the demons wouldn’t give them that information either. The sigil works on all supernatural creatures.”

“Great.”

“Wait, sigil?”

“We found some pressure plates, near the Hollow,” Dean said, getting Sherlock to frown and consider his plan to test where he thought the drug might be, “Cas said they were all over the Hollow, but he didn’t know what was in them. There was a sigil underneath…um…” there was a pause and the sound of paper being torn. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You may have an eye for them, but this one is…at least safe. I’d rather we not draw it completely.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said just as the door opened, Sherlock being pulled in and thrown to the bed before it shut, the trio glaring at him as he looked around. Dean had managed to get his phone, looking at it and smirking a bit before putting it in his pocket, Sam relaxing when he saw him and Cas looking at him with serious, almost emotionless eyes.

“Hey,” Dean said, appearing more menacing then happy to see Sherlock, “wanna trade notes for class?”

\--

John figured it was just one of those days, or at least one of those nights. First Sherlock had gone off the deep-end, though John was fairly sure that was all because the  _great Sherlock Holmes_  couldn’t be human for five  _bloody minutes_  . Still, John was fairly sure Sherlock’s reaction had been due to the fact that he’d been scared before, but something came up and he’d had to suppress it or learn how to manage it. Seeing something that couldn’t be there and feeling afraid was not something that either Sherlock or Mycroft were prepared to face.

The next point had been the UMQRA Morse code. John head headed out when he saw something similar to the code in the distance, but getting closer had only shown it to be, apparently, where the local men went to…well, he wasn’t thinking about it. At all, ever again.

The major problem there was he was  _sure_  that he’d seen the flashes and that they’d been directed at someone, and a chance glance back to the car’s lights had shown a different code, if there was any, and a different type of light. The other had been bright but it was probably a flashlight of some sort, not car lights. So one mystery remained unsolved, with John now unsure if he caught all of the Morse or if any part of that message had actually been from someone or had been from the cars, because if it was both, then he had no idea what the original was or what it would mean or pertain to. Someone just practicing? Something else?

The last problem of his day was Henry’s therapist and Doctor Franklin’s interference. It was wonderful that the man was a fan, it really was, but he wanted to chat up  _one girl_  without Sherlock somehow screwing it up. He was beginning to think that couldn’t happen, and had started to just resign himself to the fate of being a lonely bachelor, with no sex life save his imagination or the few crazy women who could stand Sherlock long enough for at least one good lay. This time, though, it had been Franklin who’d interrupted, and John had wanted to talk more about Henry. The younger man was obviously disturbed by what he’d seen as a child and the memories of it, as well as the fact that he’d been as near to a breakdown as Sherlock had when John had left him for the night. If anything else happened to the poor man, John wasn’t sure what he’d do.

John knew Sherlock didn’t believe in the supernatural, and it wasn’t something that John was ready to get into an argument over. He had seen a man, an American who had apparently gone AWOL, lift a Humvee clean off an injured friend. As much as Sherlock might argue adrenaline or something similar, you don’t argue  _that._  He’d seemed like a nice bloke as well – quiet, but a nice bloke, and it had pained his unit when he disappeared. It also hadn’t helped that all of them had died in a bloodbath no one expected. The town had said the men who’d attacked them were controlled by demons, and had mourned them after their deaths, but also had done their best to direct the teams to where they might be hiding.

That whole tour had been surreal, and it had been a bit odd, all thing considered. Still, with what John had seen…

His phone beeped as he made his way up the room, frowning as John started to answer but instead heard a sort of muffled sound, like voices on the other end. It was Sherlock’s phone, and he heard Sherlock’s very annoyed voice closer and the others nearby.

John froze, keeping the phone up and trying appear like he was nodding or something as he walked up towards his room, the voices sounding as muffled as the ones behind the door next to theirs.

Sherlock was in there…

Grateful he’d brought his gun and decided to keep it on him after they returned from Baskerville, John shifted towards the door, ending the phone call and listening. One man sounded angry at Sherlock (not surprising) and another sounded like he was trying to calm the angry one down. The voice also sounded very familiar, but John couldn’t place from where. He put a hand to the door, glad to find it was opened as he turned it slowly—

The door was torn open, John managing to let go of the knob and instead pull his gun on the man, the American that had won fifty quid off Sherlock, before walking in and closing the door. The room was a bit of a mess, with two beds and various books and a slim computer resting on the table. Inside, near Sherlock, was Sam Winchester, and nearby was another man, with a somewhat beat up trench coat and a dark suit, looking both worried, annoyed and…not that surprised or scared of John’s gun.

The man that had won fifty quid off Sherlock did look surprised, and had his hands raised as Sam nearly moved forward, the man saying, “Sam, don’t. Cas, you stay where you are.”

“Dean…”

The man, Dean, glanced back at Sherlock and Sam, his green eyes annoyed when they fell on Sherlock. “Let me guess…cell phone?”

“I don’t like being taken hostage.”

John glanced to see that Sherlock looked alright, and Sam looked angry, Dean looking back at him and saying, “Look…can we put the gun down and talk like normal people?”

“You call what you said ‘normal’?”

“Well,” Dean shot back at Sherlock, “I’d have said ‘civil’ but you’re obviously not covered under it.”

John sighed, taking off the safety and the audible ‘click’ getting Dean’s attention, as well as the other man ( _Cas?_ ), who seemed torn between going after John or looking worriedly at Dean.

“Mind just telling me what’s going on?” John asked, and shot Sherlock a glare that told him to  _stay quiet and let him handle this_. It was the same glare he’d sent a few of his subordinates before, and Sherlock looked more intrigued by that side of John, enough to stay quiet, but with the same look from before, when John had pulled rank to get them into Baskerville. He’d never really pulled military rank or shown that side of his life to Sherlock before – military friends didn’t count in the same way as making someone salute you.

_You enjoyed that, didn’t you?_

Dean, hands still up and apparently wary of John, said, “Fine. We think that your friend, that Henry guy, is being haunted and in grave danger.”

John frowned at that. “Haunted?”

“It might be more complicated,” the man Cas said, his voice gravely and serious, “and it could be that the ghost is trying to protect Henry…but doesn’t realize the damage he’s causing, or that something else is using it to torment him.”

John licked his lips, considering. “Ok, fine, what’s that got to do with us?”

“Your friend was listening in, and he’s not that nice. I think he was just about to bring up something about my Dad, and I don’t really like that.”

After a moment, John glanced at Cas and then to Sam before his eyes fell back on Dean. “How about this? We meet tomorrow…and deal with it. It’s late, I’m tired, Sherlock’s had a bad day…we’ll see what we have tomorrow.”

Dean looked contemplative but nodded. “I saw an old churchyard nearby, meet there?”

John nodded, putting the safety on as Dean stepped aside, Sherlock standing and walking out of the room, John following as the two headed to their own.

“You’re not serious, are you John?”

“Look, Sherlock, I know you don’t believe in any of that, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt, ok?”

“Bene—why?”

John sighed, remembering the man he’d shot in Afghanistan that had gotten up despite his heart being blown out, and the sadistic voice speaking through the Bluetooth in his ear. “Because sometimes demons are real, Sherlock. And Henry needs all the help he can get.”

\--

A night’s sleep, it appeared, did not improve the mood of one Sherlock Holmes. His default mode seemed to be ‘asshole’ and he also appeared perfectly aware of that and almost proud of the fact.

Sam was pretty sure that, if someone’s life wasn’t in danger right now, Dean would’ve taken it out of his hide. John Watson, who had introduced himself the next day while waiting for Sherlock to return from an early morning excursion to who-the-hell-knew-where, was a bit surprised and impressed by the whole code thing. He’d asked a bit about it while Dean and Cas were off talking near the gravesites of the Baskervilles.

“So…” John said as they sat, “that…well.”

“You’re taking this a bit better than most people do.”

“My first deployment was…well, a bit strange.” John said, “And while Sherlock’s cases are mostly scientific, I’m not about to disagree that there are…things even he can’t explain.”

“Always nice to hear,” Sherlock said, walking up as John stood, not quite as mad at Sherlock for the freak-out the other night, but still a bit annoyed. He’d never really pushed John away like that before, and while John knew it was something he should’ve expected, he’d at least hoped to be counted as a friend to Sherlock, instead of…

“Finally decided to join us?” Dean asked, walking over with Cas as the angel looked at Sherlock, the tall consulting detective appearing to have put on the air of not caring.

“I suppose you found nothing?” Sherlock asked, getting Sam to hope this didn’t turn into a pissing match between his brother and the taller detective. He could see this ending badly, and looked at Castiel for a bit of support, or at least something to show the angel would do something about them.

Of course, he got nothing. But then again, Dean was more in tuned to Castiel’s emotions then Sam was, something that Sam was glad about. Dean needed someone outside of Sam to be friends with, and a near-indestructible angel was probably the best one.

“What’d you get?” Dean shot back, apparently trying to start a fight as Sam shook his head.

“Dean, stop it,” Sam said at the same time John gave Sherlock a look that quieted the man down, though he did appear ready to start up again if the need came up, “Look, we don’t instantly find anything, we’re going on what we have and what this is most like. I’d have said this was ghost sickness, but…”

“But?” Sherlock didn’t sound convinced.

“But it tends to kill you off in forty-eight hours, and no one else sees the hallucinations,” Dean pointed out, “Plus it makes your heart give out and you’re nervous about everything. So unless your friend is jumping at everything, I’d say it’s not that.”

Sherlock frowned, as if trying to figure something out. “He’s nervous, and was not able to sleep last night.”

Sam could tell Dean also wanted to point out that the sickness would’ve infected someone else by now, but instead he said, “There’s also how we found out about it…” he looked at Cas then back to the other two. “Cas is…well, he’s immune to a lot, and he’s not easily scared.”

John looked over at Cas, who looked at him as well before John said, “Did you see it too?”

“The Hound? Yes. I also saw something that was…deeply disturbing.” Sam was sure how bad an Archangel could be – his only encounter with one had been when Lucifer was looking for him, and it had been more creepy-stalker then what Dean and Cas had done. It was one of the points that Sam kinda was jealous of, that Cas knew a bit about Dean that Sam wouldn’t learn about. Cas knew what had happened to Dean in Hell, while Sam could only gleam small pieces of it. Of course, considering all that happened in the past year, Sam wasn’t that surprised – Dean was bad when it came to fighting on his own, not because their Dad hadn’t let him fight alone until he was in his twenties. It wasn’t that Dean couldn’t hunt on his own either, but more that Sam was pretty sure he was more comfortable with another person around.

“And that was what?” Sherlock asked, Sam praying Cas had gotten better at lying.

“Someone who killed me,” Cas told him, Dean looking ready to hit the angel if most of his swings wouldn’t have been like him hitting a brick wall. “He is…known for being intimidating.”

“Wait,” John said as Sherlock frowned at Cas, “you said…killed you?”

“Trust me,” Dean finally said, sending Cas a bit of a glare, “it’s a long,  _long_  story.”

Sherlock snorted as Sam attempted to defuse the situation  _again_  . Dean was coming under a lot of stress lately, and he would probably take on Sherlock the moment he had the ability to. “The point is Henry isn’t going to last much longer, no matter what this is, and we have to do something about it.”

John nodded, which got Dean and Sherlock to stop glaring at each other as Cas spoke up, “The pressure plates that we found. They might be military-made. If someone has access to the lab, could they take them?”

John let out a breath, thinking. “It’d have to be as part of their order, or slowly, enough that if someone was keeping track of it all, they wouldn’t notice.”

“There are a few loose ends to tie up before we even know who would do it,” Sherlock pointed out, looking like he was full of nervous energy and wanted to walk and talk, “that Morse code, why someone would try and put something in the Hollow…the chance of Henry returning to it are medium at best, but not the greatest for if the person…or thing…was going to cause any sort of problem.”

Sherlock started to walk, the group following as Sam said, “Well, maybe they expected him to.”

John, who had gone up near Sherlock, turned and frowned. “How so?”

“The kid saw his dad die in the Hollow,” Sam said, “Isn’t there some idea of facing your fears? He’s scared of dogs, so you gradually expose him to dogs, or whatever he’s afraid of, in an environment where he can feel safe. It’s like kids when they’re afraid of the dark…they sleep with a nightlite until you slowly take it away.”

“So you’re saying the psychiatrist fell into the whole ‘go to the Hollow on your own and hope nothing eats you’ standard?” Dean asked.

“Most of the time, people aren’t eaten,” Sherlock pointed out as he thought.

Castiel spoke up from his place next to Dean. “He managed to return to the Hollow, but he would have told someone where he was going…he has ties to the community, and friends here. One of them knowing about it, as well as about his past, could have planted the evidence.”

Sherlock shook his head, turning to glare at Cas. “Well, that narrows it down, doesn’t it?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, we just need a friend of his who has access to a high-security base, steals military equipment, and knows how to make religious symbols. Yeah, that’s a long list there.”

John and Sam glared at their respective friends while John said, “Sherlock, about the Morse code, you can forget about it.”

Sherlock looked over at John before his face suddenly lit up, obviously having connected something together. “John, you are amazing, fantastic!”

The trio watched as they continued to walk, John apparently glad for the change in attitude that Sherlock had. “You are not the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.”

“What?” John asked.

“There are some people who aren’t geniuses but have the ability to stimulate it,” Sherlock said as he wrote something down, Dean groaning as he said, “Dude, you were doing so well before and probably was even close to apologizing for being a dick last night.”

The group stopped when Sherlock showed them he’d written down ‘HOUND’, Sam saying, “Yeah, so?”

“What if it’s not a word, what if it’s individual letters?” Sherlock pointed out, Castiel looking confused as John said, “What, an acronym?”

Sherlock started to say something then looked over, glaring at someone he saw as the two Winchesters and the former Angel looked in, watching as Sherlock and John spoke to someone before they walked up, Dean leaning nearby just as Sherlock showed his ignorance in the man’s name.

“Wow,” Dean said, looking over at Cas, “I think I’ve officially found someone  _worse_  then you at people-skills.”

Greg Lestrade looked over, frowning at them. “Who’s this then?”

“Dean,” Dean introduced, holding out his hand, “My brother Sam, my friend Cas. We’re here on--.”

“They believe in ghosts and demons,” Sherlock interrupted, glaring at Dean. “I bet he also believes that it’s perfectly fine to send someone to check on me, so long as a  _big brother_  does it.”

Dean shrugged, appearing to not care and sending up warning signals to Sam. “Hey, help’s help, no matter who sends it.”

Sherlock glare deepened as he shifted, turning to fully face Dean. “Really? I suppose you ‘helped’ your brother as well. So, how well did he take being put through rehab?”

Dean’s smirk didn’t fade from his face, but his eyes turned a bit dark. “Probably as well as you did.”

John sent a panicked look to Sam as he said, “Sherlock…”

Castiel sighed, obviously ready to end it, as Sherlock said, “So, how long did it take to trust your ‘friend’ after he let Sam out then?”

Sam grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled him out of the pub, Dean yelling at him as Sam slammed the man against a wall. The two were equal in height, but Sam had him on muscle-mass, though he was sure Sherlock could probably do some damage. Dean and John got out just as Sam hissed, “Now you listen to me and listen well. My brother  _raised me_  . His friend, he saved him from a fate worse than death. And I got caught up in my own problems, thought I was right and anyone who told me otherwise is an idiot. What I had to go through is  _nothing_  like you want to imagine. So you’d better as all hell stop thinking you’re the best thing here and  _start_  asking for help.”

Sam let go of Sherlock, stalking off as Dean yelled after him, stopping and looking back at Cas then at Sherlock. “Cas…enlighten them. Even if it takes dropping them in the middle of the Atlantic.”

\--

Lestrade frowned as he walked out, looking to see Sherlock appearing like he was angry at what had happened and the one who’d introduced them, Dean, walking off after his tall brother. Their shorter friend, the guy called Cas, watched for a bit as John looked over at him, confused. “Sorry, what was…”

At which point, Cas reached over, grabbed John, and disappeared.

Sherlock straightened, eyes wide as Lestrade looked around before they heard Cas say, “He’s fine.”

Sherlock and Lestrade looked at him, Sherlock all but growling, “Give him back.”

“No,” Cas said, glancing at Sherlock as Lestrade started to shift, getting ready to go at the odd…man.

“Where did you take him? How did you do that?”

Cas tilted his head at Sherlock, his eyes having that alien look, like Sherlock sometimes had before John had come along, the look that had gotten Sally to mutter ‘freak’ at him the first time. “Give me a reason.”

Sherlock stalked up, attempting to loom over him as Lestrade edged closer, though not close enough to get grabbed as the strange man looked at Sherlock, obviously unimpressed.

“I said, give him back.”

The man leaned in closer. “No.” He paused, tilting his head again as he looked at Sherlock. “He’ll be gone the same number of hours that he was held before you entered that pool.” Lestrade felt himself freeze at those words, blinking. “But then, it’s not much of a cop, this… _caring_  lot, is it?”

Sherlock’s hand reached out, grabbing thin air as the man disappeared completely, Lestrade looking around as Sherlock stood, shaking in place while his eyes quickly darted to each side, apparently trying to find something, think of  _something_  to explain what they’d just witnessed.

Dean and Sam walked back, getting Sherlock to look over at them with a glare. “Where is he?”

Dean stopped, Sam looking confused as Dean, instead, snorted at Sherlock’s anger.

“Not fun, is it?” Dean asked as Sherlock started to head towards him. “Hey, I’m sure the guy’s fine. Not like you care, do you? Not like you have friends, so what’s the problem? Hey,” Dean said with a sudden smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “maybe you can get a new conduit for that ‘light’ you so happily claim. I’m sure there’s a line.”

Lestrade moved to stop Sherlock before finally glaring at Dean and Sam, neither of who looked like they were about to apologize for what their strange, disappearing friend had done with John.

“Look, I could have you both for kidnapping if--.”

“Sam, what was the list of things we’re still wanted for…well, before that whole thing ‘bout us dying?”

“The small or the large?”

Dean glanced at him, looking like he was having a bit too much fun with this, “Let’s just go with you. You’re the good one, after all.”

Sam shrugged, considering. “Well…lesse, grave desecration is a big one. Breaking and entering, various traffic violations, credit card fraud…though I might get out of it, if I say you’re the one who did it and forced me to go along to have money…escaping police custody, helping you escape police custody, prison breakout, impersonating federal and government officials, conspiracy, murder…” he glanced at Sherlock again, “That’s not to mention the ones I beat myself up over, or that get a higher court to judge.”

“Let’s not go there,” Dean said, his eyes still locked on Sherlock. “I’m sure Cas will be more than happy to return your friend, if you suck it up and apologize.”

“I would be,” Cas said, appearing again near them and earning a glare from Sherlock as Lestrade started to walk up, stopping when he got near them and glancing at the man. As much as he fancied himself a colleague of Sherlock’s, he knew that his own disappearance might not help matters, especially not with Sherlock trying to figure out what was going on that didn’t involve ‘magic’ as the main cause.

Lestrade watched Sherlock shift, recalling the times he’d done all he could to try and help the young man, despite his often caustic nature. At times, Lestrade wondered had happened in Sherlock’s past to get him to mistrust people, or at least to have to work to not say what was on his mind. At the same time, Lestrade knew that Sherlock was willing to  _BEG_  if it meant getting John back. Of all of them, John was the only one crazy enough to deal with Sherlock, and who had been able to really understand him, at least in some ways.

Sherlock glared at them, then shook his head. “I told him the truth. I don’t have  _friends_.” He shifted, looking to Cas briefly. “I only have the one.”

Dean frowned at him, apparently suddenly understanding what he was saying, as Sam shifted a bit, also looking sad. John was suddenly beside Sherlock, blinking as if just waking up, and looking around. “What…wait, what did you--?” he started to ask, Sherlock looking him over and appearing almost shaken by his sudden appearance again, eyes darting over him to make sure he was alright as John looked at him, reaching to touch Sherlock’s arm lightly. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head, glancing at Cas. “How did you do that?”

Cas tilted his head. “I’m an Angel.”

Lestrade blinked at that, John frowning as he looked at Cas and Sherlock glaring at him, Dean’s smirk returning a bit. “Yeah, I didn’t believe him the first time either.”

“Granted, you didn’t believe in angels,” Sam pointed out, glancing at the three. “It’s a very--.”

“Long story, yeah, I got that,” Lestrade said. He wasn’t really religious, but an angel…well, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?

John, though, who apparently could take any new information and roll with it, at least if he had a moment to digest the whole thing, let out a sigh and turned back to the three, “Look, if whatever is in the Hollow is something…well, something you deal with, you’re right we have to figure out what it is and who’s trying to use it or whatever. I managed to find out the vegetarian place ordered a bunch of meat…think they might have something to do with it?”

Dean spoke up, clicking his fingers together as if recalling something. “Cas and I found an animal carcass out near the Hollow…looked like it was mauled or killed somehow.” He glanced at Lestrade, shrugging. “Big bad Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard might get them to talk.”

Lestrade nodded. Despite what had happened minutes before, he could understand the man’s ability to take what he found and go with it was well. In a way, Dean and John were cut from the same cloth, as odd as it might be.

“Why not put the fear of God into them?” Sherlock asked, Cas looking at him with a glare that caused the taller Consulting Detective to shift.

Sam spoke up, asking Dean for the location and then looking back at Sherlock. “You said Henry wasn’t able to sleep last night…I could check out his house, see if there’s any of the usual suspects for hauntings, or at least see what it was he saw. If it’s a form of ghost sickness, though, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“How much time we’re talking?” Lestrade asked Sam, who looked worried.

“He went into the Hollow around midnight or early the next morning, before we came here.”

Sam let out a worried huff. “Less than a day…maybe…six to thirteen hours?”

Lestrade shook his head, finally nodding, “I’ll go check with the owners then, and pop ‘round with Sam…you don’t mind, do you?”

Sam shook his head. “All things considered, I’m a bit amazed you’re being nice about it.” He considered a bit. “We can go after the dog carcass after we check on Henry, then. I have some idea of the law, maybe I could help figure out if the two need to be charged.”

Lestrade nodded, he and Sam heading into the hotel and restaurant as he heard Sherlock say, “Well, I suppose we must see what’s in Baskerville, then.”

\--

It took a bit, especially as they were bringing in  _American civilians_  , one of who was  _wanted_  and another who apparently was a being of power and divinity, currently inhabiting a former AM radio space salesman, but Sherlock managed to get Mycroft to let them in again. It had taken a bit of persuasion, as well as agreeing to a case or two for the government, and a threat or two, before they’d been allowed 24 hours on base. Dean had been watching, resting against their rented Land Rover and appearing only a bit impressed. Sherlock supposed this was due to having lied for most of his life.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” he said, “just a quick question…what’s the age gap?”

Sherlock gave him an assessing look before answering. “Seven. I’m guessing between four and six between you and your brother?”

“Four,” Dean said as they got into the Land Rover to head to Baskerville, “I’m guessing your brother took care of you until he went off to college, and generally ignored you after that, or tried to be ‘normal’, like you don’t like to be?”

“Are you two comparing notes or something?” John asked.

“No, just trying to figure something out,” Dean said, the four getting into the car and Castiel taking the middle seat, putting himself close to Dean, as the other man sighed. “Cas…Personal space.”

“I enjoy watching. It’s…a different experience.”

“Fine, fine,” Dean muttered, John realizing the man probably got as many ‘together’ references, especially if people assumed Sam wasn’t at all related. Adding in Castiel probably only made things worse for the man, and John sympathized a bit.

“Still freaking out?” Dean finally asked as Sherlock started the car.

“Attempting to figure out how he did it,” Sherlock answered behind gritted teeth, John giving him a bit of a smile. He didn’t recall much after Cas grabbed him, besides feeling well-rested when he returned.

Dean sat back, pulling out what appeared to be a journal or datebook of some sort and skimming through it, frowning when he came to an entry. “Hey, didn’t Henry say something about seeing new words or something?”

John pulled out his own notebook, checking as he frowned. “Yeah, ‘Liberty’ and ‘In’.”

“Did he say if it was two ‘n’s or one?”

“He didn’t,” John said, “why?”

“Well, my dad traveled to a place in Indiana…called Liberty, and was looking into some hauntings there. Maybe it’s a connection?”

Sherlock glanced back briefly. “Why do you say that?”

“There was a CIA base there, but it shut down. I had to wake up at some ungodly hour but I got some more info on it from a friend.”

Castiel looked over at him as John listened in. “What did Bobby say?”

“Liberty, Indiana…home of a few chemical weapons, and a string of murders brought on by apparently a healthy dosing of paranoia to rival the best internet conspiracy-theory site. Dad didn’t know about EMF back in the day, or at least wasn’t using it heavily, but Bobby’s friend Rufus was there, he said the damn thing was through the roof.”

“EMF, that’s real for finding ghosts?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “for most spirits and ghosts, you can at least have a general idea of where they are or if they’re around. Same with minor gods – you know, local ones that stuff like that.”

“So…science and religion,” John said, nodding.

“Father did not make them mutually exclusive,” Castiel pointed out, “I saw humanity evolve. Some science can pick up that which is considered supernatural, and others cannot.”

“Yeah, and some helps out,” Dean said, an obvious story there. The trip was short, but Dean managed to get out that a certain type of monster, which mimicked the voices of those who’d passed, had been using telephone lines to call up the loved ones and get them to die, either through suicide or accident, so they could eat their souls. He also, laughingly for the most part, told them about when he and Sam had headed to Hollywood to look into a set-haunting, and about some of the more famous stories, especially about spirit photography and such.

As they started to get up to the gate, Sherlock finally asked, “So, as long as we’re talking about it, what is the worst thing you’ve had to go up against?”

Dean didn’t even blink or pause. “Humans.”

Both John and Sherlock looked at him, Sherlock quickly back to the road, and Castiel looking at him in a sort of sideways glance, as if confused. Dean shrugged. “Demons I get, vampires I get, hell, I even get Angels…but Humans man…they’re just insane.”

John knew Sherlock was thinking of the pool, and the five pips, and that damned voice that still haunted his dreams. “You’ve run into enough of these?” Sherlock said as he slowed, nearing the gate.

“More than a few,” Dean said as they stopped, Sherlock giving them the ID. “Family that decided catching and hunting people was the best thing, girl who decided to kill all the parents ‘cause of how she was raised…some of the hardest, most sadistic ghosts and spirits I dealt with were as sadistic when they were alive.” He watched one of the guards walking around the car. “Trust me, demons are evil, but some humans? Demons won’t touch them.”

Sherlock accepted the ID back. “I can imagine.”

\--

To be fair to the Winchesters, they knew their stuff. Lestrade had managed to get the info from the innkeeper and his guy, about the dog and the lie that they’d had it put down, and Sam had threatened them with at least two laws that Lestrade knew to be on the books here as well before they’d left, Sam looking like he was trying to figure something out as they headed for the place Dean said the dead dog was. “What?”

Sam blinked at him, shaking his head. “Just…trying to figure this all out, so we can help that Henry guy. He seemed really nice, I don’t want him to be suffering over whatever is going on here.”

Lestrade nodded, understanding and seeing more of the type of person Sam and, to some degree, his brother was. It was obvious the two were close, and considering that he’d had to deal with Mycroft for all those five years before John came in to help out with Sherlock, Lestrade had a good eye for this. Both of them were the type of brothers to lie for each other, to go to jail if it means the other will be safe, and will demand all the attention so others in danger can get away.

The two found the dog quickly, Lestrade coughing at the site as Sam frowned, kneeling to look at it with only a mild amount of discomfort and disgust.

“Mate, how long have you been doing this?”

“I do think I mentioned ‘grave desecration in the long list of ‘things my brother and I are wanted for’,” Sam pointed out, looking over the animal. “The thing is, why is this thing killing dogs that are like it? I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?” Lestrade asked, looking away.

“Ghosts normally operate in a certain pattern,” Sam explained, “Some are death omens – they appear before a person is about to be killed by the one that killed them. Some are angry or vengeful, and haunt the areas they frequented or were killed in. Some are trying to get information across about their deaths, or about one other ghost. These ones, though…I don’t get it.”

“Wait,” Lestrade was good at marking serial killers and the like. It was one of the reasons Sherlock liked him – he was a good detective, and to some degree a very good analyst for some things. It was only for stuff that was above him, like random poisonings to look like suicides or similar, that Lestrade called Sherlock in. “Ok, tell me what you know about the ghosts.”

“What?”

“I do profiles, or I did. It’s something I’m good at. So…the ghosts. What’s the profile?”

Sam nodded, quickly rattling off the facts they’d been able to find as they started towards Henry Knight’s home, Lestrade nodding as he took that in and trying to focus it, instead, on being like a murder scene or something.

“All the fathers or people attempting to protect someone die in the Hollow,” he counted off, “which ends up calling up the Hound, or Beast or whatever. That’s the case here – Henry’s da died, and he saw it. So the Beast is trying to protect him from something, but tied to the Hollow. Why?”

“So ghosts are tied to where they die,” Sam offered, “but then Cas and Dean found some pressure plates – Cas says there are some of them in the Hollow. So maybe it’s two angles?”

“So, two…no…” Lestrade considers again. “The ghosts protect their kids, but if the kid dies, the ghost goes after whoever’s responsible, for as long as it takes.”

“And brings up fear and panic,” Sam said, digging out his phone as they continued to head to Henry’s. “I need to make a call.”

\--

Dean and John got to go down to the labs while Cas and Sherlock looked over the information that Major Barrymore could get them, though he was obviously unhappy with Sherlock’s return and his bringing ‘friends’ for the grand tour. Sherlock was still putting his head around what he knew about the man beside him, blinking owlishly at the mention of aliens, and then walking away with Sherlock to one of the rooms with cameras on the various labs. Castiel watched them as Sherlock dug through the computer, frowning and looking back at him.

“I don’t suppose Angels can use technology?”

“Our presence can destroy most electronics, and our true voices can break all the glass in a room.”

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”

Castiel looked over at Sherlock, his eyes saying he knew Sherlock didn’t want a simple ‘no’. “You are still confused.”

“You  _took John_ , made him disappear, and knew about a conversation that we had once and never speak of again,” Sherlock said, turning from his task to look fully at the man. “Your body has clues that I can read, yet your mannerisms are conflicting with it. Now I learn you’re in a Vessel, and an Angel that went against Heaven, and yet you say all that I know of science is true despite the proof against it before me.”

Castiel was silent, considering as they approached the main console room, the cameras showing John and Dean in the lab, walking around and talking about something or other. “I have not been able to understand how it is confusing.”

Sherlock sighed as he looked around, moving to a computer and quickly typing on it, hoping to get some access beyond the normal. “I assume because many religious figures view science as disproving the existence of the supernatural, and vice versa. I can only assume with your appearance here that I’m wrong.”

“I do not tell humans what to think. Dean believed in the existence of demons and ghosts, yet not in angels or God, until I appeared. Even now, though, his views on God are…complicated.”

Sherlock frowned at that, looking over at the Angel. “The man fights demons, but doesn’t believe in angels? I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“One follows the other,” Sherlock argued, “if there is evil, there is good.”

“As I said, it was Dean’s belief. I never could understand it, nor have I gotten a clear reason for it,” Castiel answered, “For him, we are not what he felt we should be. He does not believe angels need to help him alone, but rather that we must show some incentive to saving people.” At Sherlock’s look, Castiel said, “Dean believes he must save everyone. If one person dies when he has promised to save them, he feels he’s failed.”

That explained a great deal about Dean, if Sherlock thought about it, and he frowned when one then another of the camera’s seemed to have problems. “Is that normal?”

Castiel looked over, frowning as more of the cameras flickered. “No. That’s bad.”

\--

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Dean said as John stepped out of the room.

“What?”

“Dude, you don’t go into any place that advertises catching a cold.”

“Yes, well, Sherlock did say ‘everywhere’.”

Dean snorted. “Doesn’t seem the type to take care of you if you get a cold,” he managed before the two started to turn, only for the lights to come on, blaringly bright and some loud, awful sound, to John sounding like an air-raid siren, went off around them.

The two stumbled towards the door, frowning when their access was denied and looking around before the lights all went out, leaving them in near-darkness, save for the red safety-lights on near the floor.

“Sonofabitch,” Dean muttered, John wishing for his gun as they tried the doors again and Dean, looked around, the two stopping when they heard what sounded like deep breathing.

“John,” Dean said with a note of deep fear in his voice, “you’d better call Sherlock.”

John nodded, digging out his phone as they looked around, Dean motioning to the cages as John heard his phone ring, Sherlock picking up on the second ring.

“ _John?_ ”

“Sherlock, it’s here.”

The low growl made them both stop, John hearing Sherlock say, “ _John, stay calm, it’s not there. I promise it’s not.”_

“I can hear it,” John whispered, “so can Dean.”

“ _John, Castiel is on his way down, but I promise, it’s not real. It’s not the Beast._  ”

Some of the lights flickered and Dean grabbed John, racing over to the cage and getting John inside before he was suddenly thrown away, landing painfully off to the side.

“Dean!”

“Stay in the cage!” he heard Dean yell, seeing him slowly trying to sit up then stop as there was another loud growl from nearby.

“ _John! John, talk to me._ ”

Then John saw it, and he swallowed hard. “Sherlock…I can see it.”

“ _John?_ ”

“I can see the Hound, Sherlock…oh God.”

“ _Calm down, John. I’m on my way. Just stay calm._  ”

John didn’t know if he could, the large beast stalking nearer to Dean, it’s fur pitch black and dark, the red glowing eyes having looked at John once before it glanced at Dean, snarling. Dean himself was frozen, eyes wide with fear and locked on the monstrous beast.

There was a sudden slamming as the door burst open, the hound turning and letting out a snarl as Castiel strode in, commanding, and for a moment, John could believe this was an angel, his eyes bright and angry, the shadows of the room casting just so two massive wings came out behind him. He looked over at the hound, that seemed to twist and change, as if not sure what to become. For a moment, John saw it as a tall black man, wings of electricity behind him and eyes just as dangerous as Castiel’s, but more so, more dangerous and alien, and then it twisted again, and became Moriarty just as Sherlock yelled for John, stopping when he saw it.

Dean suddenly stood, throwing something at it, and the image disappeared, lights flickering on as Castiel slumped a bit, Dean moving over to check on him as Sherlock helped John out of the cage.

“The hell was that thing?”

“A manifestation of fear,” Castiel said matter-of-factly, “It’s connected to the Hollow.”

“The hell type of a manifestation is that?” Dean demanded, Sherlock giving him a look that said he was to explain,  _now_.

“The symbol makes it powerful, but I also believe it’s attempting to scare us away from what we are searching for, as well as from Henry. It views us and others as a threat.”

John shook his head. “You’re saying that’s the spirit, or ghost or whatever? It’s turning itself into what we fear?”

“Or, at least, what it can pull out of our fears,” Sherlock said, “but with Henry nearby, it’s always a hound. Well, save around you.”

Dean let out a nervous laugh that sounded forced. “That was a Hellhound. Trust me, if Henry was seeing those, I’d have asked what he asked for ten years ago, and just given up on him.”

John glared at the American. “Sorry, but you’re saying that if Henry was seeing what it was you’re afraid of, you’d just give up?”

“Hellhounds only appear to the damned,” Castiel explained, “those who have sold their souls. The normal time a human gets for such a deal is ten years.”

Sherlock was pacing around the room, muttering before he came back, saying, “I need computer access.”

“So?”

“So…I’ll have to talk to a woman about her daughter’s rabbit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The true meaning of the Hound is figured out. Sherlock and Dean have a serious Talk. Castiel and John have a more esoteric one. The groups prepare, separately, for their own major battles. John gets an unexpected visitor.

Dean managed to get reception and call Sam, speaking to him quickly about what happened and listening as his brother told him whatever news he and Lestrade had found. Sherlock seemed to be taking the whole ‘supernatural creatures’ in stride now, or at least without the same breakdown, and John supposed that was because he was keeping busy.

“I’m not over it.”

“I do wonder about you, when you read my mind like that.”

Sherlock sighs as he looks through the information, all about the H.O.U.N.D project on fear gas. “It’s not hard to see you being worried about me.”

“Considering the last time you saw something supernatural…”

Sherlock managed to give him a mild glare. “I’m accepting it because it’s what we need. On top of that, while much of it is superstitious, nonsensical, and in no way based in science or reason or logic, I do see how some might try to use it.”

Dean and Castiel wandered over, John looking up as Sherlock brought up the chemical part of the fear drug, Castiel frowning as he looked over it. “Well?”

“Some of these would be within items used for rituals to bind a ghost or spirit,” Castiel said, “Combined with the symbol, and with the ghost’s purpose, I believe it could make a ghost believe that anyone within the Hollow is a danger to Henry. If Henry is a focus of it, or if the ghost is being manipulated, then he is in grave danger.”

Dean’s phone rang again, Dean answering it and instantly saying, “Wait, Sam, slow down, what did Henry do? Ok, we’re on our way. Yeah, it’s a ghost, or at least it’s something bad, so get everything we might need for that…yeah, ok, bye.”

“What happened?” John asked as the four headed for the broken door.

“Henry pulled a gun on his psychiatrist and shot at her, then ran off. Lestrade is tailing him, and Sam went to get our stuff from the hotel. They’re pretty sure he’s heading to the Hollow.”

\--

It was getting dark by the time the four made it to the Hollow, Sherlock and John quickly racing down to get to Henry and explain as Lestrade, Sam, Dean and Castiel followed, Castiel casting worried glances around the Hollow before freezing, looking up at one spot. “It’s here.”

Henry shook his head, trying to clear it as more fog began to brew in the Hollow, Sherlock looking around and saying, “I need time, I need _time to think_.”

“We’ll get it for you,” Dean told him, “so _think!_ ”

Castiel glanced at the ground, saying, “There are more of the pressure plates here.” John and Lestrade exchanged a look as John worked to calm Henry down, Sam and Lestrade moving as Sam said, “Cas, point them out.”

Sherlock considered for a long moment as Sam and Lestrade began digging, Lestrade finding one as Sam gave him a knife and instructed him to “break” the sigil. The Hound let out a deep, threatening growl at them, Lestrade and Sam only shivering a bit as they continued to work, Castiel glancing at the Hound then back to Henry after a bit. “Henry…tell him it’s alright.”

“WHAT?”

“Tell the Hound we’re not going to hurt you.”

Dean looked over at him as Sherlock tried to think, tried to arrange the new and old data ( _angels and ghosts and demons exist, they walk among us in the form of a devoted family man, they work with men who hunt such things for a living and have been doing so since one was fourteen and the other was twelve, the elder brother probably wouldn’t get along with Mycroft because he hates using family for anything, hates that his brother is here and not in college but wants him here as well…wants him safe, and the younger is full of anger at so many things and not sure how to push it out in a safe way, wants to be something he hasn’t been…_ )

“Cas, is that…” Dean looked at Henry before saying, “Henry, I know this might be hard, I know you’re scared…but trust us, ok? We need _time_. Tell him who we are.”

Henry swallowed and finally said, “That’s Sherlock...he’s been helping me with something. That’s his friend John, he writes up about their adventures and he’s a good doctor…a good friend.” ( _They view friends as family, they view family as important…to Dean, he’ll die for all of them. He was ready to die to save John and they hardly know each other._ )

Sherlock felt the Hound look over at him then to John and the others in the circle of salt, the Hound still advancing as Henry said, “That’s Detective Inspector Lestrade…he’s on holiday here. That’s Dean and Sam, from America, they also came to help. That’s their friend, Cas. They’re here to help.” ( _who would gain from having a ghost that calls on fear? Not all ghosts can, but certain ones become vengeful, or remain as long as they can despite the pain. But all the ones in the Hollow are parents or others who are trying to protect their children, who become spirits in the form of Hounds…HOUND…that’s why!_ )

Sherlock pointed into the fog as the last of the pressure plates was pulled up and scratched off by Sam, “But that man…he killed you, didn’t he? Doctor Franklin killed you, and was going to kill Henry.”

Everyone stopped, Dean looking over as he stood, walking next to Sherlock and looking at the circle of salt, then to the taller detective. “On three?”

“I got him.”

Dean nodded, glancing at the Hound and saying, “We’re not letting you near Henry. All you’re doing is causing him pain. Or do you _want_ your son to kill himself?”

“Wh-what are you…?” Henry started before looking at the Hound, watching as it shifted to a man that appeared to be an older version of Henry, or was obviously related, his face scratched up by human hands and looking at Henry sadly.

“Da?”

Dean tapped Sherlock once, sending Sherlock surging forward and into the fog as Henry’s father looked at him, managing a small smile. “Henry…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You…you were at my house?”

“There weren’t any signs of spirits there,” Sam said.

John swallowed, remembering. “But…the fear gas that Franklin was making was perfected enough to…cause hallucinations. You breathed in more of it then Sherlock, that night.”

Sherlock was in the fog, grabbing the man and fighting his own demons. It wasn’t Moriarty there, the damned man was elsewhere…( _John saw the Hound because it’s a collective fear…a collective fear of a possible mutant monstrosity, but connected to Henry. The sigils and the fear gas…that was the same Hound I saw before, it was one that my mind supplied…John was behind iron, something that, symbolically, can keep out evil – so the only thing it had to work on was Dean’s fear, and Dean feared a Hellhound. Castiel feared that older Angel, the one that killed him…so this is not real. This is my illusion, and I’m not letting it overtake me!_ )… and pulled Franklin out into the front, yanking off the gas mask as he did. Sherlock felt the rush he’d chased after in every case, smiled a bit as he realized he’d figured it all out, that it had been such an _interesting_ case.

He felt before he registered the grab on his coat as Sam Winchester pulled him into the circle of salt, seeing what he’d almost missed. The ghost of Henry’s father was glaring at Franklin, shifting like he was being projected, a strange sort of shift and static as his eyes began to glow, starting to shift back into the black hound again. Franklin, unmasked and fearful, looked to the group then back at the changing ghost before racing out, the Winchesters and their angelic friend holding everyone back as Henry’s father watched him, turning into the Hound again before howling and chasing after him.

Henry swallowed, looking both angry and a bit confused. “I don’t get it…why…”

“This place,” Castiel said softly, “creates spirits with a single purpose. He died here, and all he could think from then on was to protect you, but he’s unable to fully realize the best way how.” There was a sudden scream and the sound of an explosion, getting everyone in the Hollow to flinch at the fire ball before there was another flicker, first as the Hound then again into Henry’s father. It was odd, like seeing an old movie or what a hologram would be, but at the same time, the chill and fear you felt saying it was very real.

“Da,” Henry said, looking over at him and stepping as close to the salt line as he could. “Da, I’m fine. I…you don’t need to protect me anymore. You got him.” Henry looked to Sherlock, looking far too young and for confirmation.

Sherlock nodded. “Franklin killed your father, having worked on the HOUND project in America. While there, he found out about spirits and ghosts, particularly vengeful ghosts. He still believed in the project, and needed to test it.” Sherlock managed to look at the ghost, who appeared to be frowning. “He needed a strong Hound here, a strong Beast of Dartmoor. Those always appear when the father or person fails to protect the one they care for. The Hound of the Baskervilles solidified when his daughter died, and killed the heirs that came near here, until the end of the line. You’ve done what you could, and scared others, as well as brought more attention to Baskerville. They will be more accountable now…to this place, and to your son.” If not, Sherlock had a few things to blackmail Mycroft with.

“I don’t know how to leave,” Henry’s father said, Dean and Sam shifting before Sam nodded, saying, “Do you…know where your bones are?”

The group looked at them, and Dean sighed, looking far too old. “Grave desecration, remember? The only way to stop a vengeful spirit is to put the spirit to rest, or to salt and burn the remains. So…unless one of you is an ordained priest who can give last rites, we have to dig him up, and burn the body.”

Henry swallowed again before looking at his father, then nodding. “Please, da.”

The man pointed, Dean looking at Sam before saying, “Look, we’re going to do this, and we’d rather not get thrown around the Hollow while we do…but we’d also rather your kid not--.”

“I’m staying,” Henry said, the two Winchesters and Castiel looking at him before Castiel said, “You needn’t. I can…”

“Cas.”

“It will be quicker…and easier.”

Sherlock could hear the worry coming from Dean. Whatever was going on between the two, it was obvious the man cared for his friend as much if not more then John cared for Sherlock.

Henry looked at Castiel, then Dean, who nodded reluctantly. “It is.”

Sherlock knew what Henry would say. He was emotionally wrung-out, like the rest of them, and standing nearby was the ghost of his father, watching after it had just killed the family friend, no matter what that man had done.

“Alright.”

Sherlock watched as the ghost suddenly seemed to catch on fire, or glow brightly, he wasn’t sure, then just disappeared. Dean and Sam looked both relieved and a little sad, Dean looking over at Henry before saying, “Ok if we get you home? I’m pretty sure whatever version of military police you guys have are coming to check who was stupid enough to be in that land mined area.”

\--

The group had managed to get Henry home, Dean and Sam speaking to him about what happened with his dad and the story of the Hollow while John made sure he at least calmed down and could get some rest, especially after being unable to sleep the previous night. The two brothers remained with Henry, Castiel having only touched him before Henry went into a deep, natural sleep.

John shook his head with a small smile. “I’d give money for that.”

Sherlock could guess he would, walking out as Dean followed, looking around the yard. “You seemed a bit too happy about the end of that case.”

“It’s a rush. I get it from solving a particularly interesting case.”

Dean snorted. “Makes sense, I guess. So, are we good?”

Sherlock looked at him, trying to catalogue what he knew now and what he could see of the odd man. Dean Winchester hunted these things, was fine with dead bodies and demons and angels, but only if his family and the others with him were safe. Something in him, something that he’d done, haunted the man still, and he was atoning for it each day. Beyond that, though…

“Why did you look worried when Castiel said he would burn the body?”

Dean let out a quick laugh, as if that wasn’t what he expected, and looked over at Sherlock, his eyes cheerful but hiding deeper pain within them. “Cas, man…he’s an Angel. He pulled me out of Hell, told me stuff he wouldn’t tell the guys he’d known for damned millennia, and set himself up just to try and warn me about something. You know, the only reason you’re talking to me is ‘cause he decided to face down an Archangel and lost, then someone decided it’d be funny to bring him back.”

Sherlock thought about that, then looked back at Dean. “He’s losing his powers.”

“It’s a slow slide, but at one point, he’ll wake up and his wings’ll be all gone. He’ll have joined the Human race…all ‘cause I asked him to.” Sherlock frowned as he realized there was something more in that, something raw and hard that Dean had not spoken to anyone about and probably wouldn’t tell him either. “We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse…my best guess is you’re working on something about as hard.”

Sherlock recalled the game that nearly killed John, the Woman and her deception, and the simple threat, said so cruelly as he tried to not look at John. “I am a consulting detective. It would only be right for there to be a counterpart.”

Dean slowly nodded, as if getting it in the first go. “Ok.” He looked at Sherlock, then back out into the darkness. “Lemme guess. You just found him, after maybe years of chasing his shadow or the edges, a rumor about him.”

“You know that pretty well.”

“My dad got me into this when I was _four_ , and I only found the bastard that threw our lives upside down about three years ago. But I got him.” He glanced over at Sherlock. “If the man is like that guy, if he’s as far-reaching and willing to kill or whatever…you have to be ready.”

“For what?”

“To lose your whole damned life. To lose any semblance of a normal life. To have John or that Greg guy to get hurt, even killed. To work to save people and have to live with the memory of failure, either because they don’t believe you were trying to save them, or because they died despite everything you tried.” Sherlock realized what all this was.

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? He’s a consulting criminal. I’m pretty sure he has deep pockets and too many contacts to count, even for your brother. My guess is that he worked his way into this life, and doesn’t have people he cares about.” Dean looked over at him. “You do. I had to take care of Sam since I was four. It took me _years_ to go anywhere near my old home, and I still can’t go to see my mother’s grave. I gave up my soul to save Sam from death, and somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if you did the same for John, and for less time then I took.”

Sherlock slowly nodded. If it had been Lestrade as well, he might, if he believed it was his fault, but for John…there were times when Sherlock would give up a lot, to make sure John was alright. The Pool had only just made him realize how much he would.

Sherlock really needed a cigarette, and was suddenly glad that John was inside and nowhere near them to hear Sherlock say, “I might have to die to save him as well.”

“It sucks,” Dean told him truthfully, “and you won’t know how long you’ll be gone or what you’ll come back to.”

“I’m willing to take that chance, if it means John will be safe.”

\--

The next day, Henry thanked them for spending the night and for the dreamless sleep, the group heading back to the hotel/restaurant. Greg went to rest, the two Winchesters going up to their room, Castiel sitting with John as he typed up information for the case on his blog, sipping tea as he considered the next part.

“You seem concerned with not telling the whole story,” Castiel pointed out as the Winchesters came down, John looking over at him then back to the page.

“I can’t tell the whole story. Official Secrets Acts and all that. I can give what little information I can, and work with the story from there.” He considered for a moment before asking, “Just…because I’m curious…”

“I haven’t met my Father.”

“Not that, it was my second question,” John said, getting a look from Castiel that said he was generally impressed, “More…well, you commented on my writing. I can only put in what I understand, or what I think people want to read, into my writing. I don’t want it taken down, and I don’t want someone reading it just so they can emulate something either. It’s a form of therapy that’s been working for me, at least after I met Sherlock.”

“You…wish to know if the Bible is similar?”

“I suppose. I mean, if Angels are around, then prophets are too, right?”

“They are,” Sam answered, “We met one.”

“We also threatened to shoot him if he kept publishing those damned books,” Dean pointed out in annoyance, “If your stuff gets published and famous, someone is going to look at it and say ‘those two…totally screwing each other’. Do yourself a favor and don’t look it up.”

John chuckled. “Right, well, we get candles at every restaurant we go to, I think by this time I’m used to it.”

Dean didn’t say anything, looking up as Sherlock came out, the two nodding as Castiel said, “We should leave. I know I did not answer your question, John Watson…”

John waved it off. “I’ve got a lot, but it’s not the whole ‘which is right’ or anything. Considering you’re even trying to stop the Apocalypse, I’ll just hope it’s not as odd as playing ‘telephone’ or something.”

Castiel looked confused, Dean saying, “We’ll explain when we get back to Bobby’s, Cas. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

With everyone else away, John and Sherlock watched as Castiel touched both Winchesters, and in the span of a breath and a sound of massive wings flapping, the trio was gone. John shifted back a bit, looking over at Sherlock as he sat, looking at where the three had been before asking, “What’s it like?”

“Sorry?”

“Being…carried by an Angel. What it’s like?”

John frowned, sipping his tea briefly before saying, “Like…falling upwards and sideways. You have an idea of where you’re going, or which direction to a degree, but you can’t see anything, it’s all too fast.”

Sherlock was silent, thinking, and John sighed. “Sherlock, are you still on about the whole thing?”

His friend shifted a bit, John smiling a little as he saw that and started typing again.

“It’s…odd, to think that if you die, there is only three choices.”

John looked over at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“There are Angels, thus that means there is a Heaven, and that would only mean there are Devils and Hell. And if you don’t qualify for either?” He shrugged.

John sighed, looking at Sherlock. “Sherlock, did you ever play this game as a child, ‘telephone’?”

“The one you were mentioning to Castiel? No.”

“The idea is you get a group of kids together and line-up, then you try to send a message from one end to the other, using the ones in between. You whisper into the other person’s ear, and it goes down. Often, by the end, the message has become so garbled and changed that you have no idea what the original message was.”

Sherlock frowned, considering it, and before he could say what he’d thought of, John said, “Castiel is an Angel, so a Messenger. One in the line, and with God as the originator, and Humanity at the end…the message is going to change. So we don’t know for certain the full truth. We can guess, but again, we can never know for sure.”

He saw Sherlock consider for a bit before nodding, shifting to stand before saying, “We’ll head back up today. I’ll go check us out.”

John nodded, going back to writing as Sherlock headed back inside. He’d managed to pack before he came down outside, and hoped both that he didn’t see the Winchesters again, but also hoped they did what needed to be done.

\--

Sherlock had been looking through the news on John’s computer, bored due to the lack of a case and John’s decision to try and have a normal job again (really, why was he still working in that surgery? Sherlock was beginning to suspect he should get Mycroft to help with money or something, but knew John would figure it out…maybe Lestrade could make him a police surgeon?) when he saw the news out of Minnesota.

In two months, he’d managed to track down news that could deal with the Winchesters and their Angel. News of a hotel with bloodsplatter but no bodies, news of a town in Missouri that was mysteriously abandoned (until they found the dead people outside of town and the mass-grave outside of town, near a battle site), and others, going back years.

But the news in Minnesota was different. This one dealt with a town that had destroyed itself, according to the reports, over a ‘cult group’ that had believed many of their neighbors were demons and had killed them, and then turned even more fanatical and started killing their own people. The girl, supposedly the one who’d been leading the group into these ideas, had been found with a sort of horn through her chest, and autopsy reports were odd, saying the girl appeared to have been dead for a few months.

Sherlock’s researches had given him ideas, giving him strings and theories to work with on a scientific level when dealing with the supernatural. Facing down a ghost had given him more of an understanding, but that didn’t mean he was going to look into it or try to get into ‘hunting’. No, that required too much, and his own work was the reward. He didn’t need mysticism and superstition.

At the same time, he knew the signs of battles being lost, and knew what toll it would take on Sam and Dean and Castiel. Knew they were already breaking at the seams, at least Dean was. Whatever was going to happen, it would have to happen sooner rather than later…soon enough, or else Dean Winchester would end up without faith in his cause, and would just as likely give into whatever was pulling him there.

_Jim’s puzzles, Jim’s invitations, the promise of never being bored again, of never having to worry about police or anything. Of never having to fight against the call of drugs or cigarettes or having to deal with idiots like Donovan or Anderson, with never having to pretend or see people like Sebastian again…_

_…of never seeing John again, of watching John give him a look that said he’d find him, fight him, and knowing that would mean Jim would kill John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade…maybe even Mycroft, if he thought he could get away with it. He probably did._

Dean would give up, Sherlock knew, because he’d done so before. He’d given up his soul for his brother…and now he had not just Sam, but Castiel as well to worry about. The Angel might not realize it, but he was family, as much as John was, and Dean would give up everything if he was told Castiel would be safe, would never be harmed, would never have to suffer again.

_We’re trying to stop the Apocalypse…my best guess is that you’re working on something about as hard._

Moriarty was getting ready to strike. The Apocalypse was gearing up.

Dean had told Sherlock he had to be ready, to give up everything he knew. Sherlock knew that Moriarty would show off, would bring Sherlock down, would kill his friends to try and prove how much better he was. Dean was dealing with the Devil, and Sherlock with one of his Advocates.

Sherlock closed John’s laptop, and made his decision.

\--

They had just buried Sherlock, and despite it having been a month, despite everything…it hurt. It was a knife in his gut, the damned shot all over again…

A knock on the door was answered by Mrs. Hudson. John didn’t want to deal with the media, with people coming to look for the grieving widow. She’d at least send them away. Very few could stand up to her sadness, even less to her anger.

The door opened, and John looked up with some surprise.

Dean Winchester soon in the doorway, a bag in his hand and his face a mirror of John’s own.

“Hey,” he said quietly after a moment, “um…this is going to sound pretty bad.”

“Probably heard worse,” John told him, looking at the other young man. He looked older, far older, and as deeply sad as John was feeling right now.

Still, Dean managed a weak chuckle and looked around the place, which had been only somewhat cleaned up of Sherlock’s things, but still feeling the same as well, his eyes falling on the skull briefly before looking back at John. “Need a roommate?”

 


End file.
